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272 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2014
That's the one thing they never tell you when you're newly built: your youngest inhabitants will walk out on you one day, in search of new dwellings. I had heard that people die, of course; I saw the Ebert children grow and Charles and Ada age, even as my paint chipped and my linoleum cracked. But I was naive enough to believe I would shelter the six of them for as long as they were walking this earth.
She tried to describe the new feeling, the new urges, the new apathy towards mothering that reminded her of the clarinet when she was twelve. For three years Elise had devoted herself to the instrument, and then one day she simply couldn’t summon the desire to practice. She never missed it afterwards, either.
In fact, contrary to what Mom had promised, the longer we were in Shanghai, the more I missed the States, maybe also because I felt like I’d lost Sophie as a partner in crime, now that she had turned so enthusiastic about the city.[…] With every new day in China, I felt like I had to put on a face of okayness, of tough survival, with Mom and Dad and even Sophie, too, the same way I put on my clothes every morning.
Germany was also the only country I had ever lived in without Sophie. Perhaps living here again, I thought, would teach me how to live without her again.
Even now, as she cleared her throat and told us that she was going on a walk and drifted off, her lanky frame far too lanky these days, I wanted to call her back, rock her to sleep, scream that she couldn’t leave us now too.[…] Yet in between impulses to suffocate Leah and to burrow into Chris like a baby marsupial, I also badly wanted to do the opposite: I wanted to run away from both of them.
Specifically, with Bernd Pinker. I know, I know, a stupid name. And a horribly stupid idea: how on earth could anyone even consider nursing a crush after losing their daughter?
And so, with Bernd, I'd decided to just let it happen. I saw it as a forgone conclusion, and, I admit, it was a good excuse for me to tune out even more. Elise was the one who had insisted we needed this vacation together, the three of us, so if she wanted to spend it drooling over some balding community-theatre type, more power to her. It took her off my hands.
Elise had mentioned Leah's overexercising to me, but I'd always dismissed it. I'd actually taken pride in the idea that Leah was just as committed to being in shape for her soccer season as I'd always been for basketball.
“I couldn’t stay there,” she finally said.
“Where?”
“At that table. With Mom and Mr. Pinker. And you just sitting there, like, I don’t know, some sad old dog.[…]Just letting her go for it. Just letting this ugly, stupid, British dude flirt with her the whole night, while you order more rice.”
I've never been able to explain, not to myself, nor to any therapist since, how sleeping with Bernd saved my marriage, even if he ruined Christmas that first year without Sophie. Which was arguably already fucked.